I have, in the long distant past, had a series of wonderful recurring dreams. My favorite is the most joyous feeling in my entire dream life, including all those marvelous erotic dreams that punctuated my vivid life among the living. I could tell you what was going on in my real life whenever I had an erotic dream. But the series of my best dreams is surrounded by a big nothingness, a life that pales so completely that it could have merely been an illusion. I don't know why. And because I don't know why, I wonder about it.
I am outside, walking somewhere, minding my business, whatever that means. And I come upon some small obstacle in my path. The thing in my path is an insignificance. But what happens next is meaningful. I hop over the obstacle and in the hopping I float. It feels so good. Like nothing I've ever imagined. I try it again, and again I float, weightless and free. The dream ends there, but the feeling lingers. And I think about it often. Let's pretend in my real life I am in a blank white space now where nothing happens at all. And the next time I sleep, I try the weightlessness again and it works better than before. I can jump higher, stay up, remain weightless longer. Is it flying? Not really. Not quite. There are periods of real life that are complete blanks, but then again I dream the dream and each time I get better at it. I can jump so high and stay up there weightless so long it is now flying. I can glide above the earth with no effort at all. It seems endless. And then it ends.
